J ames reached behind the driver’s seat and pulled out a rolled mat. “My friends, I will magically transform this vehicle.”
“We could use a little magic tonight.” I watched as he waved the rolled vinyl above his head.
“Watch as the old box truck, magically becomes-” James turned his back to us, unrolled the vinyl, and placed it against the driver’s door, “The Water Connection Plumbers.”
“The Water Connection?” We could barely read the sign in the dim light of the parking lot.
“What is a plumber responsible for? Water in. Water out. Therefore, The Water Connection. The Water Connection Plumbers.” I had to admit, the name worked. I just hoped he’d checked the Yellow Pages to make sure there wasn’t another Water Connection.
“Guy I know from Cap’n Crab printed them up for us. Pretty cool, eh.”
“Problem is, James, you don’t know one end of a wrench from the other.”
I could see him smile. Someone had then taken the letters and intertwined a silver W, C, and P. It actually did look pretty cool. What bothered me the most was the phone number, displayed in a putrid yellow.
“Skip, that’s your number.” Em looked puzzled.
“If someone calls to check up on us, it can’t be a fake number.” James had thought it all out. “They’ve got to believe we’re a real plumbing company. If we’re out on a surveillance call, all you’ve got to do is answer your cell with ‘Water Connection.’”
That didn’t bother me too much. The people who called my phone were Em, James, and one or two other friends. My mother and I hadn’t spoken in years, so she wouldn’t call. And with the others, I could always explain. I’d just tell them I was moonlighting as an answering service. What bothered me was the minutes. Every time someone called to check on the phony business it would cost me time on my plan. Hopefully the bonuses would more than make up for the extra cost.
“And I didn’t want you to feel left out, Skip.” He walked to the passenger side and unrolled a second sign.
“James,” I opened the door and let Em in, “I just hope nobody recognizes the truck.”
“Perfect disguise, Skip. Perfect. Once the signs are in place, nobody realizes it’s the old truck.” Of course, he was right. Superman could put on a business suit and glasses and everyone thought he was Clark Kent. Thin disguises worked everywhere. Grow a mustache, shave your head, and no one would recognize you. People would focus on the sign now, not on the truck.
We stared at the apartment as James backed out, gazing at the large plywood squares that covered our windows. It was another reminder that someone had tried to kill us. I saw someone walking slowly up the sidewalk and they waved. I thought it might be Jim Jobs, but I couldn’t be sure. It was after one o’clock in the morning, and there was still life at the complex. I flashed back to the night I’d seen someone in the parking lot under the box truck. No matter what hour of the night, there was life at the complex. There was soon to be life at Synco Systems.
I kept my laptop on my lap, feeling that it was a lot safer with me than sitting in the apartment. And if Feng was moving around this early in the morning, I could check up on him. It still amazed me that the man hadn’t stumbled on the GPS unit under his Honda.
“Got three of these.” James reached over and handed each of us a cheap plastic flashlight.
“Three?”
“They were cheap. Four for five bucks. And they don’t last very long. I already tried one, but I’ve got three of them left. Just take them in case, okay?”
Green, blue, and red.
“I think we’re in business. If anyone wants to back out, say so now. We’re on a nonstop mission, boys and girls.”
“You’re sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s the Lord’s will, my man. Must be. It feels right.”
“In other words, James, we’re on a mission from God.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Blues Brothers, Aykroyd and Belushi, 1980. We’re on a mission from God.”
“Do we have any idea what we’re going to find?”
“Pieces to the puzzle, Skip.” Em sounded full of determination. Determination and caffeine.
I much preferred an exact definition of a mission. But I had to admit, this mission had no definition. We were almost as clueless as we had been from the beginning. But this time we had the code to the big guy’s computer. And that might make a world of difference.
James drove out of the lot, and I could see the shadow of a figure standing in front of our apartment. I’d bet on that figure being Jim Jobs, and I thought again that maybe he’d been the shooter tonight. If he was, maybe he was disappointed he hadn’t killed one of us. And if it was Jobs, and he planned on breaking into our home after we were gone, I wished him a lot of luck. The only thing of value in that apartment had been the case of beer and the PC, and the PC had been blown to hell.